


The Orphanage

by InsanelyWriteful



Category: Blood and Chocolate (2007), Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Abuse of Authority, Authority Figures, Bullying, Dark Setting, Dark Thoughts, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hannibal Lecter is Not a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is Not a Murderer, Humor, I promise it is in here somewhere!, M/M, Mentions of Death, MurderArtists - Freeform, Orphanage, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Starvation, Strangers to Friends, Teens, Violence, Voluntary mutism, Young Aiden Galvin, Young Hannibal Lecter, big emphasis on, defiant Aiden, mute Hannibal, rebellious Aiden, sassy Aiden, traumatic mutism, yet?, yet???
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-08 00:02:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17375714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsanelyWriteful/pseuds/InsanelyWriteful
Summary: After the horrific death of his family, Hannibal Lecter has been left adrift, struggling through his days in an orphanage. Still trying to find his place in the world and how he fits into it, he crosses paths with a rather strange boy. The death of his father in a foreign country leaves Aiden Galvin helpless as he's handed off to live in an orphanage where no one can understand him. Except for the strange boy who doesn't seem to care about anything at all.In their darkest hours, two souls shaped through similar hardships will come together and change each other's lives.





	The Orphanage

**Author's Note:**

> Ooo, I'm very excited about this one~ And to be getting started on my first multi-chapter story. *rubs hands together* I may be sporadic with updates, but I do have a plan for where this story is going. This is me trying to throw my work out and not cling to it until it is perfect. I may never get anything done if I keep everything to myself! XD  
> I loooove having Hannibal and Aiden be friends in my stories. A lot of my other stories (not posted) feature them being odd friends. There's just something so fun about Aiden's playfulness bouncing off of Hannibal's calm and deadly qualities.  
> This is one of my darker stories, so they will go through more horrible situations, but there will be moments of fluff and fun, too. Aiden isn't going down without a fight~

 

Day in, day out. Always the same. The same faces. The same food. The same walls. Hannibal sighed as he looked past the bars and through the window. Even the scenery was the same.

At times, it felt like the entire world had stopped moving. Or, rather, he was caught in a state of limbo. Never ending drudgery. A life without substance or stimulation. Being interesting was the least anyone around him could do and they all fell flat at even that meager request.

The best any of the . . .

Hannibal squinted, wishing he had a better word to describe those around him. People were what they’d want to be called, but if he were to be considered a person by others then, at least in his own mind, he wanted to differentiate between them. After all, despite being within the same species, one would not group a hawk and a robin together in their mind whilst thinking of a “bird.” A hawk is a bird of prey and a completely different class of creature. It never needed to establish itself. It was simply always superior.

Hannibal felt much the same about himself and there had always been an underlying level of disgust at the idea of being grouped together with the masses. He had yet to have found anyone he would consider an equal in the world. Everyone fell flat in attaining his interest. And so many of them were _rude_ and uncivilized and crude and--- He cut off his thoughts, disliking the rising swell he’d felt coming over him. He breathed in and out and returned to his complete calm in a fraction of a second.

An appropriate term would come to him when it presented itself. He would be patient until then. Patience was all he had when it came to the world he lived in. Like a harried caretaker trying to fight a growing headache at the unbelievable circumstances their charges could come up with. He wished he _could_ do something about those around him, but everything was out of his hands. He’d lost any power or stability the moment his parents died. And it is troublesome to not be considered mature enough to handle oneself and properties by . . . lesser beings. Causing him trouble once again. Eighteen would come soon enough and all that he’d lost would be restored. It was merely a matter of time.

And so, he held onto his patience with a tight grip, content to wait.

The best he had to pass the time was to watch them. But, he’d learned early on that humans didn’t take very well to being studied. And reacted aggressively. Especially when Hannibal didn’t care to explain his curiosity. It was difficult to explain his fascination. Despite his dislike of them, he was drawn towards them, wondering why they behave the way that they do. Before his parents’ death and when he was still attending school, he’d seen such odd behavior. People giving away their possessions without any sort of trade or thought that the gesture would be returned. Doing things for others that he’d been told was a “nice thing to do.” He’d taken quickly to the polite things like holding doors open or saying please and thank you. Fitting into society and being liked demanded a set of behaviors and a code of rules. It made sense to him. But, giving away one’s lunch because someone else was hungry had never made sense. Wasn’t the first person hungry then? Why would they starve themselves for someone they didn’t know? Was that person indebted to them and would return them a favor? But, no. He’d been told that it was a nice thing to do and it was their choice to offer a kindness with no rate of return. They said it made them feel good inside to help someone.

Hannibal didn’t understand it at all. He’d tried it once. It hadn’t been pleasant. He had copied that person and gave away his lunch when he’d seen someone who had none. It was true, they had thanked him and were grateful. And while he’d had a brief moment of enjoying their regard of him, it had been over all too quickly. They had taken his lunch and not spoken to him again.

In the end, all he’d been was hungry.

And there had been other rules. Ones just for him, apparently. He was told not to stare. Staring was rude. He was told that he had a “strong presence” that sometimes frightened the other children.

Maybe that was why he allowed himself that one rudeness. He didn’t care to not stare whilst living in the orphanage. Let them be put off by his “strong presence.” It had become clear early on that there was being polite and there was letting people think they could take advantage of you. Survival came before manners. Some people, no matter how hard he tried, simply didn’t deserve his politeness. They deserved his restraint. Well, no, what they deserved was his wrath. Bloody faces, torn skin, broken teeth . . . They had _earned_ his restraint. Only because, as he’d said before: survival came first.

Fighting was prohibited. And was sorely punished. Having no desire to speak to defend his actions—why should he defend them? He was attacked, he attacked back. He saw nothing wrong with it—and with the other boys gathered in groups like herd animals standing tall against a lion, he often ended up being the one punished. So, he’d learned. Learned of bullies. A school term he’d often found intriguing only to once again understand the why of human behavior. Did it make them feel good inside to hurt where it had made another person feel good to help? He, himself, did not feel good inside hurting others. It was merely a reaction to a situation. It gave him no joy or rush of feeling. In fact, his heart often slowed, his mind becoming clear so he could decide his actions in the most effective manner. He knew he couldn’t assume this was the same for others. He and them had never been alike. And he could see the smiles on their faces. The hungry desire to hurt. The pride in making someone suffer.

And so, he wondered. Wondered how the same group of people could feel things so differently and, yet, still belong in the same society together. He saw, with some surprise, many of the giving people give exceptions to the bullies. Saying that they would change, they would learn. And he’d seen the bully types take advantage of their so-called kindness. Could it really be called kindness when it allowed cruelty to remain in the world?

There were many things he didn’t understand about them. But, he’d always had a hunger for knowledge, in all its forms. He was curious about all sorts of things in the world. No tragedy that had befallen him had ever managed to snuff out his burning curiosity. History, cultures, languages, religion, society. How humorous that it always seemed to lead back to the beings around him. Everything made by them, catering to them. A very self-centered lot, he would say. Though, he couldn’t deny that that was one trait he had in common with them.

It was like the orphanage. Everyone vying to get adopted, fighting and struggling for their own desire to leave. A rare occurrence when times were rough and people on the outside were struggling to care for themselves let alone thinking about taking on more mouths to feed. He wanted to leave, but he had no driving urge to change his circumstances. He’d learned long ago that sometimes things were out of his hands and he’d have to wait and see how everything came together, revealing a true glimpse of the path ahead of him. Being adopted would only complicate things. If he let anyone adopt him, they would try to take advantage of his birthrights. And he would not be taken advantage of. He would prefer the monotony of the orphanage over dealing with someone uppity annoying him.

One of the staff gave a gruff command, ordering all the boys to the dining hall where dinner was ready to be handed out. They filed in together, a river of mindless nothingness. A herd of cattle with not even a slaughter to look forward to that might put an end to the endless monotony. They got their portions, single-file, and sat at the long tables that filled the room. Some days it was quiet, only the scrapes of silverware on plates breaking up the silence. Other times the room was full of quiet chatter, the boys feeling a little livelier about their day.

Apparently, it was a day for the latter. The boys of different sizes, heights, ages, races, and ideals all milled about in their usual groups. Hannibal took little notice of the usual norm, content to eat his meager meal and spend his time reading. But, it seemed that someone else had other plans for how his free time should be spent.

“Hello, freak,” Matis spat as he towered over the table across from him. He seemed to be under the mistaken belief that being more in control meant being taller and bigger. However, in Hannibal’s experience, he’d found that nothing compared to a good dose of rational thinking.

He set his spoon down beside his bowl and folded his hands, giving the fork a thoughtful look before meeting Matis’ gaze head on and strongly.

“He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t speak,” he grinned to his friends surrounding the area. Hannibal raised a brow, taking a cursory glance at them before continuing the staring contest with Matis. “You can talk. I see the way you look at us. Like you think you’re better than us.”

 _I am._ Hannibal thought simply.

“You’re not!” Matis snapped as though he could hear Hannibal’s thoughts. He lowered his head between his shoulders like a predator about to pounce. Hannibal felt no fear, though. Matis had always felt more like a mouse playing lion than anything else.

“Do you see how he walks, too?” His mood switched so easily. From angry to mockingly jolly. Hannibal had noted it long ago with some minor intrigue. “Like a king?”

“More like a queen!” Emilis crowed.

“A queen is right!” Matis laughed, sticking his nose in the air as he did a poor imitation of Hannibal’s stride. Apparently the boy believed feminine behavioral patterns to be lesser than masculine ones. Hannibal didn’t care for sounding Freudian, but perhaps the insecurity might stem from an issue with his mother. Possibly in not having any positive female figures in his life at all? Hannibal hadn’t found either of his parents lacking, so he couldn’t relate. Only speculate based on what he’d read in the psychological studies that he’d found interesting.

“This isn’t your father’s house,” Matis held his stare with a gleam in his eye. “You’re not a nobleman anymore. You’re a worthless orphan just like the rest of us.”

Hannibal sighed and broke eye-contact, deciding to return to his meal. Matis proved as uninteresting as ever. If there was one thing he was certain of it was that he was _nothing_ like them.

“Did you hear me?!” He snapped, upset about being ignored. “I said you’re—”

Hannibal saw the fist fly out of the corner of his eye and reacted instantly. He was no fool. He wouldn’t take his full attention away from a threat. Even one as minor as Matis. The viciousness the world could come up with had taught him to be on guard and it was a lesson he’d learned well. Everything slowed. ‘Til it was such a simple thing. Moving his arm, flicking his wrist. Putting his fork up in the path of Matis’ fist so his own force impaled himself on the cutlery.

Hannibal observed the boy’s scream and cursing with a curious eye, giving one slow blink when his furious gaze locked back on him. It was amusing in its own way. How Matis’ own actions had led to him being hurt. Hannibal wouldn’t deny he’d had a part in the chain of events. But, then again, it wasn’t his fist that had been thrown.

“HANNIBAL!”

He didn’t flinch when the head of the staff and Director Stephanos’ right-hand man, Darius, bellowed his name. He’d expected as much. Matis had instigated and he had reacted. Reactions had consequences.

He left his meal, knowing that he’d be dragged from it just as quickly if he didn’t obey, and made his way down the line to the head of staff. There weren’t any theatrics beyond the echoing shout. He walked ahead of Darius and was escorted out of the dining hall to the Director’s office.

Once inside the room, Hannibal remained standing, knowing the chairs weren’t for him, and looked down. The Director didn’t care about the comfort of others. And direct eye-contact was seen as a challenge to any of the staff. Though, especially to the Director. War and poverty had made strict men of them. And Hannibal just didn’t care enough to defy them. Life was easier with them thinking him docile and broken. It stroked their egos and it made the days more peaceful for him.

“Fighting, Director,” Darius reported, straightforward and simple.

He gave a nudge and Hannibal stepped forward.

“Again, peasant prince?” Director Stephanos drew the unpleasant nickname out.

He wasn’t waiting for Hannibal’s reply. Merely letting them all marinate in the silence until he was ready to toss him to the flame.

He got up from his chair, cleaning his letter opener as he went. It would seem they’d interrupted him doing paperwork. He tapped the miniature dagger against the cloth in his palm as he contemplated the situation. Hannibal had no doubt that it would give the man no greater pleasure than to stab him with it. Perhaps only maim him. Leave marks on him to wear for all to see.

“How are our rations?” he asked, knowing he would get the answer he wanted.

“Low, sir.”

He doubted the food supplies were actually low. And if they were, it spoke more of their incompetence at management than anything else.

“Oh,” he said as he set the letter opener on his desk before clasping his hands behind his back. “That changes things.”

 _No, it doesn’t,_ Hannibal thought dryly.

“In that case,” he turned, conversing with Darius as if Hannibal weren’t in the room. “I think three missed meals for a troublemaker would aide us in our time of need.”

_Indeed._

“Right away, sir. We would be lost without your excellent leadership.” 

_Quite._

The Director gave a single nod and Darius jerked Hannibal by his arm, roughly shoving him towards the door. He stumbled a step or two but didn’t complain or make a sound. He didn’t make the mistake of making any move to leave. That sort of apparent disrespect had dire consequences.

He could almost feel the malicious smile coming off the Director. “Ask me for permission to leave, little prince.”

Hannibal stiffened before slowly turning around and lifting his head up so he could meet the man’s gaze.

He remained silent.

The Director locked eyes with him in a battle of wills, a cruel smile curving along his mouth. “Go on. Ask me.”

Hannibal didn’t say a word. And he was never going to. Even if he had to stand in the man’s office for all eternity.

The Director looked away. Though, it wasn’t a loss for him. It never would be when the fight was rigged from the very start. He was like those bully types. Taking pleasure in cruelty, thriving off of the suffering of others. Hannibal could almost admire the viciousness as much as he found it distasteful. After all, it was hardly different from the cruelty God could inflict on people. In truth, Director Stephanos’ brand of cruelty was quite small. He could never hope to achieve all the cruelty God had achieved since the beginning of time. No matter how much the man may think himself God.

“Add another missed meal. Children who don’t obey, don’t eat,” he looked to Darius. “Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.”

And, with that, Hannibal was taken back to the main rooms to merge back into the herd. Now that Matis had had his fill and had bitten off more than he could chew, the others left him alone. He supposed Matis needed time to lick his wounds before he looked for another fight. As for himself, he sat by the window, gazing at the world beyond the orphanage. He dipped into the place deep inside his mind, drifting through the rooms, inspecting the construction. Enjoying how the rooms were coming together. He’d spent most of his life piecing together details in his head, making all the rooms immaculate and grand. Places where his memories could live on, comfortable and familiar. Where he could visit them and forget about the cruel reality that would always be waiting for him when he left the hallowed halls.

He explored an area that held his childhood home before all the tragedies had occurred. Beautifully crafted designs. Elegant furnishings. Bright with art and all the items his parents had collected from their travels. A place that had been lived in to the fullest. And though it warmed his heart like nothing else could to remember the way the place made him feel, he knew, in the real world, he was never going to return. It hurt too much to think of what had become of his home.

And so, he forgot the hurt and let himself drift off in memories. Only re-emerging when they were ordered to bed. He cleaned up with the rest of the boys before they all filed into the rest hall. His bed creaked as he lay on it, staring up at the ceiling, eyes not flickering in the least when the lights were turned out.

He kept staring until sleep eventually claimed him. He didn’t care much for sleeping. It was a weakness. It would seem he had taken to screaming in his sleep at times. Without his consent or awareness. He’d been combing any books on sleep he could find to see to the problem, but his insight remained woefully underwhelming. Still, sleep was necessary to keep the body in peak condition and it wouldn’t do to let himself weaken in other ways when he could do something about it.

So, he slept.

And then he woke with a single blink of his eyes.

And the day started again.

The only difference was that the status quo had practically gone back to normal. Matis and his friends didn’t bother him. The staff paid him no mind. Everyone ignored him and went about their days as they always did. Which left Hannibal to do the same. And be utterly bored by it. At least the previous day had been a little interesting. But, it couldn’t last forever. So, he read while skipping his breakfast as ordered and then he attended the required classes from 8 am til noon and was terribly bored by it all. It was basic skills for the working class that he’d learned a long time ago. He spent the time reading on anatomy, his latest interest, knowing the teacher wouldn’t care. They only had the classes because it was required, not out of any desire to inspire learning.

The latter half of the day was much the same as before, though less eventful and with less food. He went to bed with a harsh pain in his stomach from all the missed meals.

And he woke up to do it all again.

Day in, day out. Always the same. 

Until the day it wasn’t.

Hannibal, and the entire room, was jarred out of the usual monotony that befell everyone when it came time to gather in the dining hall for meals. All heads turned to the main doors and the source of the unusual commotion. It took form in a young man struggling in the arms of two authority figures dragging him through the room. Darius was leading them to Director Stephanos’ office.

He was making enough of a ruckus to keep Hannibal from returning to his book that had been taking his mind off of the ache of his hunger. Well, if he was going to be such a terrible distraction, then he could serve just as well as the book in distracting Hannibal. Even if only for a moment.

He’d seen plenty of young men have tantrums at being brought to live at the orphanage. Confusion. Fear. Betrayed faces full of anguish. No doubt wondering why. Why did they have to be here? Why were they unwanted? Why was there no place left for them? The answer was quite clear to Hannibal: no one cared. There was simply no higher authority that was going to care about any of them. Anyone, honestly. Not a parent, an assigned guardian, the government, or God himself. Placing one’s trust in such figures would always be foolish. In the end, you can only rely on yourself. And aim to be another idol, capturing people’s trust and awe, holding it for your own and not caring for what becomes of any of it.

Since the young man was intent on keeping everyone’s attention, Hannibal took him in, searching for any noteworthy details. Brown hair, blue eyes, thin build, slightly shorter than average height, baggy clothes. He sighed, disappointed. There was nothing remarkable about the boy. It was same usual play of comedy and tragedy it always was. Not a very noteworthy distraction at all.

“I’m not supposed to be here!” came the shout. Hannibal’s eyes twitched open a fraction wider. It was a foreign shout. One that was not Lithuanian. It was English.

That piqued Hannibal’s interest. He tilted his head and watched, intrigued, as the boy kicked his legs in the air to impede his captor’s progress, babbling all the while despite no one understanding him. Hannibal had learned long ago of the pointless nature of speaking to those who wouldn’t understand.

“Listen, listen,” he implored in a more calm tone, though the frantic nature was still very much present. “I’m an American. My dad died and a mistake’s been made. I need to get to an embassy.”

They ignored him.

“Did you hear me?” his eyes went wild, fake grin freezing on his face. “DIDN’T YOU HEAR ME?!” When he realized his answer from the stoic faces, his struggles increased tenfold.

“LET ME GO!” he snapped, jerking this way and that. He even resorted to biting one of the officers.

The man grunted, letting him go with a pained gasp. His lip curled in a snarl before he backhanded the boy. Which didn’t seem to have much of an effect on him. He ripped himself away from them and ducked from their grasping hands, hurrying down the line of tables, imploring to anyone who looked at him.

“Help me tell them!” he babbled, grabbing one child before rushing off to the next when it was clear they were scared and didn’t understand. “Do you know English?! Help me!!!”

He got halfway down the row and harassed a number of people before the authorities caught up with him again. They grabbed him by the back of his neck and slammed him to the ground. He hit with a pained thud and a loud curse. “Fuck you!” He snarled as his arms were jerked behind his back and he was hauled off the floor.

Hannibal couldn’t help it. He hated vulgar words and behavior. It disgusted him like nothing else could. Apparently, his distaste had shown on his face without his permission because the desperate boy latched onto it like a drowning man finding the surface of the ocean to take in air.

“You can understand me,” the young man stated the fact with no little amount of awe, blue eyes widening before he started to yell out again. This time, at him. “You can understand me! Hey, please! Tell them I’m an American! Tell them I’m not supposed to be here!”

Hannibal stared at him, only slightly tilting his head as he observed the situation. The boy getting yanked by his arm, nearly having it pulled from its socket from how much he was struggling. Getting slapped, red marks blooming over his cheeks.

“C’mon! Please!” he called out, tears welling up. “Help me!”

Hannibal turned away.

He didn’t look back, no matter the screams. Didn’t bat an eye at the pleas. Though, he did wrinkle his nose at the curses thrown his way when the boy realized his last hope would do him no good. The door out of the dining hall slammed and the boy’s desperate babbling was muffled.

Hannibal returned to his book, glad to have the entire ordeal behind him. There was no point. No one was going to help the boy get back to America. And Hannibal wasn’t going to get in trouble over a pointless venture. Especially not to help someone he did not know and did not care to know. He would learn soon enough that begging would get him nothing. In a world that delights in screams and is a glutton for agony, pretty, little gems like help and mercy are nowhere to be found.

 

**.oOo.**

 

He could say it was a really bad day. But, it would cover a lot more ground if he just called it what it was: a really bad fucking life.

Getting smacked around by his old man in American was one thing. Turned out it was a whole other story getting smacked around in another country. Asshole just had to get stationed in another country and bring him along, too. Couldn’t just drop him off somewhere random and let him fend for himself in a place where people actually _spoke his goddamn language._ Noooo. Control freak needed to keep Aiden glued to his ass obviously.

Then the goddamn prick up and died, leaving him so far up shit creek the only color he could see anymore was brown. Now, he’d been crammed into some orphanage.

“From one hellhole to another,” Aiden bitterly muttered to himself, shoving his hands into his pockets.

He observed the room, taking in details. From the sullen, hardened faces of the other boys around him to the bars on the windows. He made a face at the bars, hating the clear message they represented. He was no stranger to their brand of control. A system that gripped tight, cutting off freedom, forcing those caught in the trap to choke on helplessness and despair. At the moment, he had no way to fight it and win. But, he could still fight what they _wanted_ to do to him. He refused to bow his head and give in to their “supreme authority.” It was his life to live. His choices to make. They could try, but they would never be able to beat the fight out of him.

They wouldn’t be the first to try.

He frowned at his surroundings. The place was so damn dreary! A sea of browns, greys, and blacks. Dark walls. Old and barren. It was like all the life was being sucked out of the place. Maybe some hideous monster lived under the building, feeding off of everyone’s happiness.

Aiden grinned to himself. More like that hideous monster was the guy he’d been dragged to yesterday. He seemed to get off on other people’s unhappiness. Aiden hadn’t liked him the moment he’d seen him. He gave off all sorts of “danger!” warning signs. Aiden’s instincts had screamed at him to be wary and cautious.

At the inner warnings, Aiden had gone quiet, watching the man, completely on guard. There had been a gleam in his grey eyes. Something that relished Aiden’s despair. Aiden had seen the look enough times in his dad’s eyes to know a sadist when he saw one. That hint of a smile hiding underneath his scraggly, black beard, the greasy, wiry hairs shining in the light of the window. His balding forehead shimmered just as brightly. Aiden would have made a smartass remark about the guy blinding everyone in the room, but it just wouldn’t have been satisfying considering it wasn’t going to offend his target at all. Language barriers sucked.

Nope. He might as well of been decoration for all the say he had during the moment. The officers and the office guy talked for a bit. The sandy-brown haired guy who’d lead them to Mr. Grease Beard threw in a few words but didn’t say too much. It had all happened very fast. Before he knew it, he was being manhandled away by the quiet guy and tossed into some random room with a bunch of the guys he’d seen from earlier. Fat lot of help they were!

Dumped off at an orphanage. It was just his luck.

A stern command was called out over the quiet chatter, engulfing it and commanding attention. Silent But Dicky was back. And he was pointing out a few kids, apparently instructing them to come over to him. He pointed at him.

Aiden’s luck just seemed to get better and better.

He went over to the man, brows furrowing as he looked up at him.

“What?” he asked.

Narrowed eyes and a smack to the back of his head made Aiden wonder if the guy was mental.

“What the hell was that for?!” Aiden glared at him as he rubbed at his head.

The man snapped at him and the guys around him backed up with their heads down. Aiden looked at them and back to him, still rubbing his sore head and awfully confused. He didn’t know what the man wanted. It seemed pretty darn obvious he didn’t understand.

When the guy yelled all Aiden could think was that he needed to think up a new nickname for him. The quiet thing wasn’t flying so much anymore. Maybe Blowhard?

The man towered over him, getting more aggressive. Asshole was such a classic, too. He couldn’t forget the classics.

He gestured to the room and grabbed Aiden by the arm. He was going to be covered in bruises if they kept it up. Not that they’d care. But, Aiden was getting damn sick of being sore and hurt. That was the only explanation he had for why he pushed the Asshole and got his arm back to himself. And that did _not_ go down well at all. It earned him another smack, this time to his face.

The Asshole yelled and yelled as if being loud was going to make gibberish suddenly comprehensible. Aiden brought his head back up and kept it held high even though he knew it would only provoke the man. Being a rebellious brat was probably going to get him in more trouble than he needed, but he knew this game all too well. Ploys to make sure people obeyed.

Do as I say and you won’t get yelled at. Don’t question me and you won’t get hit. You’re too stupid to know better, that’s why I’m in charge. You’re lucky you were even born. It’s because of me you’re alive. Because of me you have anything. If you try to leave, I’ll kill you.

Aiden shuddered, closing his eyes briefly to brush off the memories.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered. It almost sounded like he was talking to the past, even to his own ears.

Asshole paused and said something that wasn’t yelling. It sounded like an order, taking Aiden’s closed eyes and softly spoken words as obedience.

Aiden’s eyes shot back open as he snapped, irritated. “I said I don’t understand!”

That got him another smack upside the back of his head. Which wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to already. He turned back, eyes narrowed and burning, not backing down.

He kept yelling at him and hit him again when Aiden didn’t heed a command he couldn’t understand in the first place.

Eventually, the stupidity ended with him thrusting a bucket into Aiden’s chest that Aiden caught, water sloshing over his clothes. He glared when a scrub brush was thrown at him and the man pointed at the floor, shouting his commands again.

Getting the hint, Aiden dropped to his knees on the floor with no little amount of grumbling and started scrubbing. He stuck his tongue out as soon as the man’s back was turned and grinned at the small victory. He glanced around the room again, ignoring the judgmental looks. He was nothing if not himself. That’s when his eyes stumbled upon the guy from the other day. Sitting alone by the window, staring at him.

 _Smug prick._ Aiden thought and shot him a glare. He hadn’t forgotten the other day! Jerk just sat on his ass and let him get carted off.

His burning glare might as well have been a light summer breeze for all the effect it had on the guy. He just blinked at him very slowly and purposely before turning away to look out the window. Aiden huffed, annoyed at being so blatantly ignored.

He scrubbed viciously at the floor. He didn’t understand him at all! He could have helped. He could have done something and he didn’t even try. Aiden couldn’t imagine living like that. Content to let the world go by. Never taking a stand. Making a mark . . .

He slowed down his scrubbing and glanced over at the guy again, taking another look without spiteful anger filtering his gaze. Still just sitting there, looking out the window. It looked like he was gone. Like the whole world had faded around him. As if he’d found his own escape.

Aiden tilted his head, curious. The guy was definitely a prick, but there was something different about him from the rest. It’s not that he didn’t have that same dead look in his eyes like everyone else. It just felt more . . . calculated. Maintained, controlled. Almost cultivated. The others looked beaten and broken. His looked . . . weird. Almost like he’d pulled on a suit of nothingness and he was hiding behind it.

From then on, Aiden was determined to find out what it was.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! I would love to see your comments on any of this~ Hannibal and Aiden will get a real chance to "talk" next time~


End file.
